Hush Little Baby
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: The aftermath of Fred's death was just too much to bear for poor George. Molly makes the decision to self medicate her grieving son, but the effects of the potion might just be too numbing than is necessary. Quidditch Leagues: Round 7 entry


**Written for the Quidditch Leagues Fanfiction Competition, Round 7**

 **Task : Write about the Calming Draught**

 **Prompts : (word) raindrops, (poem) Winter by Jan Allison, (colour) olive**

* * *

"Drink up, Georgie, there's a good boy."

My mother was tipping a healthy dose of something sweet, warm and honey-like down my throat. I could see her through my blurred vision; just a soft shape of brown textures and orange hair.

It was the second day since Fred died. The first day had been unbearable—I spent twenty four long hours crying, screaming, fighting, yelling. I went through the full spectrum of emotions; feelings that I didn't even know I was capable of experiencing—mainly, a depression that I was sure I wouldn't be able to endure.

The second day was doomed to be easier, but I was awoken by Mum with the mysterious, sickeningly sweet potion.

After she had wiped my lips with a cloth, and then pulled me into her chest for a hug. I felt like as though I was a child again—tucked up in bed being spoon-fed by Mum and showered with cuddles—just like she did when Fred and I were six and had the Chicken Pox.

But now it was just me, and I wasn't the only one who needed comforting. My whole family were in mourning—but Mum seemed to know that I needed her attention the most.

I wasn't that deep in my thoughts, before I started to feel a cool sensation of sleepiness washing over me, despite having only been awake for a few hours already. "What was in the potion?" I murmured to Mum, lolling my head onto her shoulder.

"It's a Calming Draught, dear," she replied sadly. "It'll make you feel better." She pushed my pillows back so that I was lying comfortably, and gently stroked the hair from my face. As the Calming Drought quickly began to take effect, I became vaguely aware of Mum singing thickly, through her own tears.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word..."

oOo

The following day passed in a blurry haze.

It was quite pleasant; the feeling of continuous numbness to my brain. I could see people around me, and hear conversations, but it was like I wasn't really there. When I heard my own voice speaking, it was like I was underwater—I sounded groggy, too loud, and like I was hearing my voice from miles away.

I'd had Calming Draught before as a child, but I didn't remember the effects being so strong. It was evident that Mum had possibly been serving me stronger doses, with the intention of making me feel better.

I didn't feel things in the same manner, either. I knew that Fred was dead, and I knew that it was awful and I hated his absence. But I wasn't really feeling the pain anymore. Instead, there was just a dull ache in the pit of my my stomach, a reminder of my missing brother.

I had a constant stream of visitors, and initially I was thankful for the distractions.

oOo

Raindrops speckled the windows. I watched them flicker and run slowly down the glass, the droplets a jarring contrast to the foggy grey sky outside.

"Here you go, son. I brought you your dinner." Dad was resting a tray of roast dinner on my lap. I was still and staring into space; it wasn't long after Mum bringing me my second dose of Calming Draught. "Hungry, Georgie?"

Both Mum and Dad had been calling me by my childhood pet name quite often, and even though I would normally scold them for this, deep down, I was slightly enjoying the nostalgic feeling of being a child again. For now, I had no worries. For now, Fred wasn't dead—no, of course not—he was right over there, in that bed beside me.

While I was imagining my twin as a child, Dad began to spoon feed potatoes and gravy into my mouth.

Even the food had no taste whilst I was under the influence of the Draught. I closed my eyes, allowing my minds eye to travel to a time long ago, when Fred and I were sitting at the kitchen table during a Sunday dinner. We spent the whole time flicking pieces of meat and vegetables at Percy, until Mum was well and truly driven insane.

I felt the shadow of a smile ghosting on my lips, as gravy dribbled down my chin.

oOo

"I've put as much as I can into the shop, mate," came another gruff voice. I opened my eyes slowly, and the gangly figure of my youngest brother, Ron, loomed into view. He was wearing dusty robes and his hair was untidy. "It's fixed up nice for whenever you want to come back to work."

"Come...back?" I murmured, my voice was thick with the effects of the potion. I might have been too dazed to notice, but I could swear that Ron's face split into a sad, small grin.

"I'm going to put off Auror training, mate. I'll help you out with the shop."

oOo

Sometimes I wondered if Ginny was being fed the same Calming Draught as I was. She would often wander into my room, sometimes in the middle of the night. She was like a ghost; her light olive skin eerily pale and long-limbed in the white nightdress that she seemed to be wearing all of the time, and her auburn hair streaming down her back. She would sit on the end of my bed, looking over at the pictures of Fred and I on my walls, with tears spilling silently down her face.

oOo

"I miss him too, George."

Angelina came by once. She and Fred had been dating for a while before it happened, but it took her a while before she came to the Burrow to pay her condolences. She was clutching a droopy looking bunch of Daffodils, which she placed in a vase and magically filled with water, and then sat beside me for a while, her dark eyes large and doe-like.

I didn't want her there. Even in my drowsy condition, I knew that I didn't want her there. Her presence reminded me too much of how happy Fred had been; he talked about Angelina a lot, how he wanted her and Alicia to move in with us once they had finished their Ministry approved courses.

She reminded me too much that Fred wasn't here.

I managed to allow my eyelids to slide shut, and pretend that I had fallen asleep.

oOo

It was easy to get addicted. Mum tried to wean me off it after a couple of weeks, but I didn't feel ready to let go of the blissful calmness that it provided me. I wanted to stay numb forever.

I knew I needed it when Percy came to visit me. Percy was the last one to speak to Fred during the war, and he had determined it necessary to spend a fair amount of time alone before coming to socialise with his family.

His eyes were puffy and red when he entered my bedroom, and his usually slicked back hair was long around the ears and unwashed. Instead of the smart robes he normally boasted, he was wearing cheap, tattered brown ones.

Percy couldn't make eye contact with me whilst he sat gingerly down on Fred's bed. He expelled a strong sense of guilt; it was all over his flushed face, in his body language, in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Georgie," he mumbled, pressing his fingertips together as he spoke. "It's all my fault."

oOo

It was twenty seven days after his death before I climbed out of bed with an intention other than going to the toilet.

Mum had stopped giving me the potion. She said I was becoming too dependent on it; everyone else was learning to get on with their lives, and it was time that I did the same.

I hated her for thinking that I could just _move on_ , as if there it was that simple.

It was impossible to move one. When Fred's heart had stopped, the world had stopped with it. Nothing mattered anymore—the shop, my family and friends, my _life_. Fred and I had been together since we were in our mother's womb—how could anyone think I could just carry on my life; as if the one thing that made me whole was still here?

I was on my way downstairs to get myself some more of it, seeing as Mum had stopped bringing it to me. I couldn't cope with the reality—my thoughts were coming back thick and full, and the memories...the memories of Fred's smiling face as he lay there, cold and still on the floor of the Great Hall...

As I pulled the door open, I caught a glimpse of myself in the long mirror on the wall.

I was a hot mess. My hair was overgrown, I was unshaven and there were huge bags under my eyes - which I was extremely confused about. If anything, I'd had too much sleep within the last three weeks.

I walked towards my reflection slowly, and my heart panged.

For the last three weeks I had inwardly despised every moment that my door had opened. Each person that came to visit me, however honourable their intentions, reminded me dreadfully of Fred. I wanted to forget that he was dead. I wanted to pretend that he was still here in the bedroom like when we were kids.

I wasn't ready to let go.

But as I advanced upon the mirror, I realised that I was wrong to accuse everyone else of reminding me of Fred.

Who else could remind me more of Fred than myself?

He was right there in front of me, looking sheet-white and miserable, his lanky frame covered in unwashed flannel pyjamas. He reached out to me, and I reached out to him. I expected to feel his hand against mine, but all I felt was the cool, smooth texture of the mirror.

But it didn't matter. While ever I was sat in front of my reflection, it was all too easy to pretend. The cold anguish in my heart was still present, while I knew deep down that Fred was gone. However, now that I had this outlet, there was a sense of comfort to the anguish.

It was like a thick blanket of snow, snuggling me with a winter wrap.


End file.
